


The Skylord

by orphan_account



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-10-20
Updated: 2008-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fantasy AU story, Yamamoto-centric.  Yamamoto is living peacefully in his home city of Namimori, when a mysterious visitation from a Yellow Child results in his father giving him a sword and sending him off on a journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Skylord, part 1 of a projected ten chapters  
 **Summary:** A fantasy AU story, Yamamoto-centric. Yamamoto is living peacefully in his home city of Namimori, when a mysterious visitation from a Yellow Child results in his father giving him a sword and sending him off on a journey.  
 **Wordcount:** 1500 for this part  
 **Author's Notes:** A certain amount of suspension of disbelief is begged from the reader as regards the worldbuilding of this AU; its economics, magical system, social structure, and technological system. My canon knowledge of KHR is weak-ish so any concrit or corrections are welcome!

 

  
The retired swordmaster ran a tavern at the edge of the city, near the docks, where he sold sushi. It was an unusual thing to make a living from, in those times; but Namimori had a reputation for the most exotic cuisine among the Vongola cities, and its closeness to the sea ensured a steady supply of ingredients of the finest quality. Fishermen and tradespeople visited the tavern after-hours, ordering cucumber and tuna rolls to go with their beer and camaraderie; at least twice a week some merchant's wife or aristocratic lady would ask the swordsmaster to cater for a party she was throwing, which kept his income in good stead.

Yamamoto Takeshi, the swordmaster's son, was two years shy of coming of age. He had never trained with the sword, although his sushi was nearly as good as his father's, and he was an expert in handling bar fights. Despite his youth he was already beginning to make the city maidens swoon, and rumours abounded concerning whether it was extraordinary discretion or extraordinary indifference to the fairer sex that had kept his name free of scandal thus far – no small feat, considering the giggles and blushes attached to his name when it was mentioned amongst Namimori's young ladies of quality.

Two notable exceptions to this trend were Sasagawa Kyoko and Kurokawa Hana, whom Yamamoto had known since childhood days – or rather, he was an acquaintance of Kyoko's brother Ryohei, with whom he occasionally practised fisticuffs. Ryohei was forever trying to get Yamamoto to take up the sport in earnest:

“You would be an invaluable asset to our club!” he declared, clenching a fist to accentuate his words.

Kyoko shook her head and smiled at her brother; Hana concealed a yawn.

“It sounds like fun; but I don't really have the time to be doing this, you see,” said Yamamoto. He was smiling as apologetically as he could manage, hoping not to offend Ryohei. Unnecessary, since Ryohei was nearly impossible to offend, but Yamamoto felt that it was a good habit. “We've had a lot of customers lately, so work's been busy. And anyhow my father doesn't approve of fisticuffs.”

Ryohei looked outraged. “It is the most noble and extreme of the sports!”

At this point the butler came in to inform them that Mochida had come to call on the Sasagawa family.

“Oh drat,” Hana levelled an accusatory look at Kyoko, “another male with wool for brains to contribute to the discussion.”

Yamamoto was vaguely impressed by how Hana always managed to appear supremely ladylike while indulging in language that was anything but.

Kyoko's would-be suitor entered the drawing room, looking very dashing in white breeches and fawnskin boots that had been buffed to perfection. It looked like he'd made an effort; Mochida wasn't naturally the type that fussed about his looks.

His gaze fell on Yamamoto, and although normally he would have scowled to see him here (Hana said it was because he considered Yamamoto a rival for Kyoko's affections), today his face broke into a strange hopeful grin. He greeted the girls and Ryohei, and then turned to Yamamoto abruptly.

“Yamamoto! Just the person I was hoping to meet.”

“Well, there's something you don't hear everyday,” Hana murmured.

Mochida pretended not to hear her (or perhaps genuinely didn't; his attention could be selective at times). “I want you to ask your father to teach me swordsmanship.”

Yamamoto had been wearing a somewhat puzzled-looking variation of Mochida's grin; most of the puzzlement and some of the grin now went out of his face. “He won't,” he said. “he's retired.”

“That's why I'm asking you to ask him,” Mochida said impatiently, “he wouldn't listen to me when I talked to him myself, no matter how many times I pleaded. I need your help."

Yamamoto scratched his head, feeling that the situation was somewhat awkward. “Look, I'll ask, but I really can't make any promises. He's never taught me how to use a sword either.”

It wasn't strictly true - Yamamoto could remember mock-duels with his father from his childhood, mostly involving him getting thwapped painfully; but it didn't seem like a good idea to encourage Mochida. He had no doubt that his father would refuse.

“Well, as long as you promise to _try_ ,” said Mochida, although his tone suggested that he would continue to bother Yamamoto for as long as it took. His face took on a dreamy edge. “The undefeatable Shigure Souen style. How amazing I would be if I could master it!”

He darted a quick glance at Kyoko to see whether she was impressed by the idea, but she was busy eating a slice of madeira cake and giggling at Hana.

#

It was still morning when Yamamoto arrived home, and the tavern was shut. He let himself in by a sidedoor, and found his father standing behind the counter, holding a long straight-edged knife. Chopping boards, dried seaweed and several kinds of fish were laid out on various surfaces, but it did not look as if his father had begun making the sushi just yet.

There was a great puff of yellow smoke in the middle of the tavern. Yamamoto tensed, wondering whether there was some strange magical visitor here that needed to be removed from the premises; but he relaxed upon seeing that his father was unperturbed, although unhappy.

He stepped closer, and saw that there was an image of an infant in the middle of the smoke, dressed in black pantaloons and a black coat, with a black hat and bright, black eyes. It looked like it was smiling.

“It's been a long time,” his father was saying. “I won't bother hoping that this is a social call.”

“Afraid not,” said the infant. “I've come to ask you to fulfill the promise that you made to my masters.”

“Ah,” said his father. “So it's that time now, is it?”

“It's actually a bit early, but the times necessitate haste. Take no more than two weeks to prepare, then get in touch with the Cavallone. They'll tell you everything you need to know.”

The column of smoke disappeared, taking with it the illusion of the infant. His father looked up with a dark expression on his face, and saw Yamamoto.

“Welcome back, Takeshi,” he said. “It's time to teach you how to use a sword.”

#

His father took three days to show him the eight forms of Shigure Souen – using every spare moment in-between sleeping and making sushi and running the tavern – and then pronounced his training complete. Yamamoto looked at him with disbelief, but was too used to his father to attempt real protest.

“If you have what it takes to be a real Shigure Souen successor,” his father said, “you'll be fine. If you don't – well then, God help us.”

This last phrase was spoken passionately, and Yamamoto was struck with the feeling that there was something going on that he did not really understand. It certainly seemed from the news the tavern's customers brought that strange things were happening in the world this week: Hibari Kyouya, the city's ruler, had gone missing. The city's day-to-day running had not been greatly affected, since that was mainly under the care of Hibari's aide Kusakabe. But Hibari was their city's protector, and said to be as strong as the strongest of the Varia, and it was worrying to think that any harm could have befallen him.

On the fourth day his father helped him pack some clothes and some sushi, and walked with him to the gates of the city. “Do you know where the Cavallone lands are?”

“Due west, a week's journey as the crow flies,” Yamamoto recited dutifully. They'd gone over this several times already. “I ask to see Dino, and say that I come on behalf of the Yellow Child.”

“Perfect,” his father approved. “And if they don't agree, then challenge one of them to a fight. Are you used to wearing a sword yet?”

Yamamoto looked at his scabbard, suspended by a thin leather baldric and dangling from one hip. “Yeah, it feels pretty strange, but it's not a bad feeling.”

His father had given him the sword upon his learning the Eighth form. “Of course, it's not your _real_ sword, the one that you have to find for yourself,” he'd said. “But it's a pretty good one, and will probably last you as long as this undertaking lasts.”

Not that Yamamoto was really clear what sort of undertaking he was meant to be carrying out. But it wasn't bad, to be carrying a sword and setting off on an unknown journey. It felt like being a travelling hero.

Because he'd forgotten to mention it earlier, he turned to his father and said: “Do you know Mochida? Friend of mine from way back. He wants you to teach him swordsmanship.”

Instead of snorting, his father looked thoughtful. “Yes, I remember him. If he's persistent enough to come round again I'll consider it. Swordsmen may be needed in this city soon.”

His words felt like a dangerous portent, but a rather exciting one. Yamamoto said farewell to his father and walked west, whistling as he went.

 

 


	2. The Skylord, part 2 of ?   [KHR, fantasy AU, Yamamoto]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the outset of his journey, Yamamoto meets a couple of visitors.

Yamamoto followed the road for several hours before stopping for lunch. He unwrapped his sushi rolls and estimated that he had enough for now and tonight; and maybe tomorrow's breakfast if he ate sparingly. There was little point in keeping sushi overnight though, so Yamamoto ate as much as he liked, which didn't leave much for dinner. His father had only given him enough money to buy food for seven days, so hopefully the Cavallone would grant him hospitality when he arrived. Ah well. He'd deal with it when the time came. He finished his meal, stood and stretched, and continued on his way.

The sun was very bright now, and the air was dry. When he left Namimori this morning, it'd been cloudy. Yamamoto remembered fishermen complaining about the unpredictable weather these last few months. There had been windless mornings turning to gales by noontime, and days of simultaneous sunshine and rainstorm; it had even snowed one evening in the middle of summer. It was all very unusual for Namimori – even though there was at least one place on Vongola lands, the city of the Varia, where erratic weather was known to be the norm.

Fortunately today it remained sunny until nightfall, which was when Yamamoto found himself in a rapidly darkening forest with no shelter anywhere in sight. He found a small grove close to the main road, that seemed like a good compromise between being attacked by bandits and being attacked by wild animals, and after gathering some fallen wood managed to start a fire using his flint. He was about to unpack his sushi for dinner, when he heard a rustling noise coming from the foliage behind him.

Something exploded at his feet.

When he leaped back, a series of bright fizzing objects came flying out of the undergrowth. They seemed to be aimed at his face. Yamamoto did what seemed like the most sensible thing to do: he dodged.

He avoided all of them quite easily. Two of the explosives shot past him when he ducked and went straight into the fire, making it _whoosh_ up suddenly in a flare of blue and bright purple. The rest landed on the ground and blew up.

For several minutes the area shook with explosions, Yamamoto's vision was completely clouded by smoke and multicoloured flame. He blinked, and when the air cleared he saw a boy who looked the same age as him standing in front of him.

The boy was silver-haired and scowling. He held ten glowing sticks of various colours in his hands, and five smaller sticks with red-hot ends clenched in between his teeth. “Spying bastard,” he snarled. “Who are you working for?”

“Erm,” said Yamamoto, scratching his head. “I think we might have a misunderstanding here.”

The other boy wasn't listening. He used the smaller sticks in his mouth to light the larger sticks in his hands, and was about to throw the latter at Yamamoto, when a bird flying overhead decided to defecate on his head.

The sudden _splat_ on his hair made him start, dropping all the sticks he was carrying (both larger and smaller ones). They fell scattered at their feet, and began to spark ominously.

Yamamoto dove to the ground. He grabbed a fistful of the sticks and hurtled them upwards, into the distance. They flew above the tree tops and erupted, sending out a shower of brightness against the night sky.

The remaining sticks he hadn't manage to grab went off, and they scrambled out of the explosions' way. When it had all subsided they found themselves staring at each other. The silver-haired boy was having a coughing fit.

Yamamoto brought out his handkerchief and started to fan away the smoke. It didn’t help much. “Are you all right?” he asked. “That was a pretty impressive show you put on there.”

The boy frowned, as if he was trying very hard to understand something. “You weren't following me.”

“Well, er, no!” Yamamoto shrugged. “But hey, that's fine. Nobody got hurt, right? Well, it looks like most of the trees have been burnt to crisps, but they’re not really _people_ , so that’s still all right.”

Right on cue a pine tree creaked, shuddered, and toppled over, its impact making the earth shudder.

Yamamoto decided to forge ahead with the conversation. “I’m Yamamoto Takeshi. What's your name?”

It was too hard to tell in the dark – the only source of light was Yamamoto's fire, which was burning well, although it had turned bright green and was twice the size it had been before – but he thought he could see the other boy flushing red with embarassment. He snapped out his reply: “You can call me Gokudera.”

“Gokudera, huh? Sounds like a Namimori name.” He was about to invite the other boy to have some sushi, but Gokudera had already turned and begun to stalk (stomp, really) away. He disappeared into the darkness; Yamamoto was left staring after him bemusedly until his stomach growled to remind him that it was dinnertime. He found a relatively unburnt patch of grass on which to sit, finished off his sushi – the last he would eat for several weeks – and then rolled into a comfortable position and went to sleep.

 

#

Daylight saw him with stiff sore limbs and soot-covered clothing. He dusted himself off, packed up his belongings and left the charred, blackened grove (or what used to be a grove, since there were scarcely any trees left worthy of the name). From here on the path wound uphill between two mountains, and then into a wide valley filled with fruit orchards. The apples had ripened, and Yamamoto picked several to eat. He munched on one as he walked, putting the rest away.

He'd nearly reached the end of the valley, when he spotted what he thought at first was a baby cow, running around a small paddock; soon after he saw that it was far too small and the wrong shape to be a cow. On closer examination it proved to be a human child, with black bushy hair and a one-piece suit that looked like cow's skin. It leaped up as Yamamoto approached, and pointed a fat metal wand at its nose.

“I'm the thunder wizard Lambo!” it declared, and made a funny blowing noise with his nose. “Prepare to die!”

Much to Yamamoto's surprise, streams of lightning came spurting from the wand, and for the second time in two days he was obliged to practise his dodging skills.

Lambo seemed to get frustrated when its lightning bolts didn't hit Yamamoto. After about five tries and a lot of scorched grass, it sat down and started to cry.

“Would you like something to eat?” tried Yamamoto, feeling awkward.

It used one hand to wipe snot from its nose and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Do you have any grapes?” it demanded.

“No. But I have some apples, if you'd like some.” He pulled an apple out of his pack and offered it to him. Lambo sniffed at it before biting off a chunk and chewing.

“Where is your family?” Yamamoto asked. “Your parents must be wondering where you are, huh.”

Lambo folded its arms across its chest. “I am from the Bovino family! Lord Bovino has given me a quest to defeat the the Ultra Super Powerful Wizard Reborn,” it said proudly.

“Defeat an ultra-powerful wizard? That sounds like a great goal. Where does this wizard live?”

Lambo looked flummoxed. Finally it said: “I don't know.”

“Sounds like your first task should be to hunt down the wizard's lair, then. Do you have any ideas where to look?”

It brightened. “I know where! The Skylord Castle! In Vongola City! That's where Reborn is hiding.”

“Ahahahaha, in the Vongola Prince's castle? That's a great thought. Seems like you've planned your quest well,” said Yamamoto. “Well, much better than I've planned mine anyway.”

“Lambo is going west to the Skylord Castle,” it announced. “Will you take me there?”

Yamamoto smiled. “Why not? Sounds like a fun game to me.” He bent down to pick up the kid. Up close, Lambo seemed more likely to be male than female. He had short stubby arms and was fairly wriggly, so Yamamoto decided to carry him by the hair instead. Lambo didn't seem to mind. He dangled in Yamamoto's grasp while chewing his apple, and was quiet and well-behaved for quite some time, as they made their way out of the valley and into the woodlands beyond, continuing west.

 


	3. The Skylord, part 3/?  [Yamamoto-centric, quest fantasy AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamamoto and Lambo are staying at an inn, when they are surprised by sudden visitors.

  
Outside, it rained.

Yamamoto was obliged to practice his sword forms indoors, in the room he'd engaged for the night at an inn. So far he'd faithfully followed his father's instructions to train everyday, as often as he could, whenever he was not eating, sleeping or travelling. It was hard performing the movements within a constricted space like this one, but Yamamoto could just manage it.

Lambo was perched on top of a bedpost, watching Yamamoto curiously as he worked his way through the Shigure Souen forms. It'd been two days since they started travelling together. By the time Yamamoto remembered to think of getting Lambo back to his family, they'd been walking together for eight hours and a good twenty miles. He'd crouched down and asked Lambo where his home was then, but the child had only said something about defeating a reborn wizard and kept pointing west.

If he were really missing his parents, he'd be a lot more upset, right? Besides, it looked as if Lambo wanted to stay with Yamamoto, which Yamamoto didn't really mind. Having two mouths to feed meant that he'd ended up spending more money than he'd expected, but he supposed they would cope.

A roll of thunder reverberated outside as Yamamoto positioned his sword, ready to bring it down in a diagonal slash. The casement windows were closed, but there were gaps between the wooden slats for rain and the last of the daylight to filter through; the floor surrounding the windowsills was wet, and occasionally a flash of lightning would momentarily brighten the entire room. The steady beating of the raindrops on the roof grew heavier as Yamamoto continued to practice.

Lambo flopped back on the bed and began to pull things out of his hair, looking bored. He always seemed to have hundreds of things – leaves, coins, dirt, even his wand – hidden in the depths of his dark bushy curls. As long as Lambo was safely out of the way though, Yamamoto wasn't really paying attention to him. The longer he practiced, the more he seemed to sink into a deep focus, where there was nothing on his mind except his body, and the sword, and the opponent his father had told him to imagine in front of him.

He'd just finished performing each of the forms twice, when they both heard a loud crash from downstairs, punctuated by a rumble of thunder overhead.

Yamamoto might have ignored it even then, if the woman hadn't screamed.

It seemed too early for people to be having a drunken brawl. He listened again and slid the sword his father had given him back into its scabbard and went to the doorway. Lambo was already at his feet, pushing the door open.

As they walked across the landing and down the stairs, there was another crashing sound. Yamamoto paused on the bottom step and and peered out at the front entrance.

The man standing at the edge of the room was tall, with a long sweep of silver hair drenched in rain. Water was dripping off his body and his black cloak and seeping into the grain of the wooden floor beneath him. In his right hand he held a sword. Behind him stood a short blond boy, similarly soaked.

“Unless you want to die, you had better talk!” said the man. “Where's the wizard?”

Next to the strange swordsman was an overturned table and a tankard of ale which was slowly rolling across the room, spilling its contents as it went. It came to a stop at the feet of the innkeeper's wife, who had one hand clamped over her mouth, trying not to scream.

The innkeeper, a portly man with red cheeks, kept a brave face, but his voice trembled as he said. “I've told you already. There's no wizards in this place. Wouldn't we tell you, if it meant that you would go away and leave us in peace?”

“The intensity of the rain has increased exponentially as we approached this center. There was also green lightning in the sky, as we entered the courtyard. There's no mistake,” said the blonde boy. He spoke with an educated accent but there was something peculiar and flat about the tones of his voice; Yamamoto felt a strange chill upon hearing it. He wore a slim tiara on his head, and his bright, golden hair was spread damply across his forehead, so that you could not see his eyes. “There's at least one potential Guardian here. Maybe more.”

The swordsman shook his head impatiently. “They're here somewhere! Let's just tear down the place and find them ourselves.” He scanned the room with a quick restless gaze. Yamamoto was in the shadows, just out of sight, but besides him and Lambo there were several other guests in the room. They'd been eating dinner, or else simply relaxing and having conversation, when the swordsman and his blond companion arrived. Now most of them looked petrified. Certainly none of them looked like a wizard or whatever these two were looking for.

Suddenly, Lambo brushed past Yamamoto, and ran forward.

He came to a stop in front of the swordsman, pulled his small green wand out from his hair and pointed it at the wordsman. “I, Lambo, will save the day!”

“Eh. what's this?” The swordsman bared his teeth in a blinding grin. “A kid?”

His look of amusement shifted into startlement, when lightning broke out from Lambo's wand, although he avoided the attack with a single step. Then his eyes narrowed, and he lifted his sword.

Without even thinking about it, Yamamoto drew his own sword and darted across the room and in front of Lambo and readied to parry, even as the silver-haired swordsman sprang forward in an attack.

Their blades met. A sudden feeling of electricity flowed through Yamamoto. Then much to his startlement, blue flame ignited around the hilt of his sword.

The same thing was happening to his opponent. The flames snaked down their respective blades and then collided at the point where the swords touched each other. They surged as they met, and grew brighter and more intense in colour.

It all happened simultaneously, but the first thing Yamamoto was aware of was a strange sharp breaking sound. Something flew into his cheek and drove in deeply; a warm wet trickle flowed down his face and neck.

Then he noticed that the swordsman had pulled back, and there were metallic shards hitting the floor between them, and realised that the sound he'd heard had been the sound of his own sword shattering.

He looked up, still holding on to the sword-hilt with its broken stump of blade. The silver-haired swordsman stared back, eyes burning. It felt like his gaze was boring right into Yamamoto.

“A sword of rain. Who taught you the Shigure Souen? Tell me!” When Yamamoto did not answer, he snorted in disgust. “In any case, you're weak! Finishing you off will be too easy.”

Yamamoto considered the situation. He might be able to get out of the way, but then there was Lambo, and the other people who might get hurt.

He'd begun to feel that he'd run out of options, when suddenly the boy with the tiara seemed distracted and cocked his head, listening. Then Yamamoto and the others heard the sound as well. It was soft at first, and then it began to overpower the sound of the rain and the storm; and then finally, it was roaring in their ears; the thundering of hoofbeats, drawing closer and closer.

The room broke out in whispers. “It's the Cavallone,” someone said. “I know the sound of those horses.”

“We're saved!”

Seeing that the swordsman was suddenly distracted, Yamamoto made a decision.

He dropped his broken sword, picked up Lambo, and ran.

The only plausible escape was through the kitchen and then the back door. Outside, the rain was the heaviest he'd ever seen in his life. The ground was sloshy and gave way beneath his feet. He ran around to the side of the building, hoping to find somewhere to hide.

He didn't find any.

The blond-haired boy was standing in front of him, wearing a smile that was visible even through the heavy rain. He'd come out by the front door and had been waiting, out here.

Footsteps behind Yamamoto. The silver-haired swordsman had emerged from the back door. His hair was thoroughly soaked now, and stuck to his clothing in clumps.

Yamamoto looked from one opponent to the other. There was no way to escape.

The hoofbeats grew more thunderous, and began to slow down.

“We need to finish this quickly!” shouted the swordsman at his partner. “It'll be troublesome if we have to fight them.”

The blond-haired boy simply kept up his eerie smile. And he _moved_.

A dozen or more knives came flying through the air at Yamamoto, and he just had the foresight to push Lambo to the ground and cover the child with his own body before they reached him and struck everywhere - his back, arms, calves, grazing the back of his head.

Initially he felt pain, and then rich sticky blood seeping from the cuts which in turn was being washed away by the pelting of the rain. For one dizzying moment he felt at peace, as if it was all over now, it didn't matter anymore.

Then he realised that all the hoofbeats had come to a stop. He heard the crack of a whip, and the sound of the silver-haired swordsman cursing. And a voice was speaking calmly, strong and clearly audible despite the wind and the thunder and the storm: “It's been a long time, Squalo Superbi.”


	4. The Skylord, part 4/?  [fantasy AU, Yamamoto, Gokudera, Vongola guardians]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Yamamoto and Lambo meet up with Dino Cavallone, Gokudera conducts a search of his own.

 

  
Gokudera Hayato was lost.

He had in fact been lost for some time, but it was not until just now that he'd given in and admitted it to himself. The sun was long gone, and above the forest path where he was wandering, small stars had begun to dot an ink-coloured sky. He lit his way with a mage-globe that hovered on the fingertips of his left hand, glowing bright red; in his right, he clutched a rolled-up parchment map that he hadn't bothered to consult in days.

 _Should have known that any gift from Shamal would be hopeless._ As a guide to every bordello and whorehouse in the Vongola duchy, the so-called map was rather effective. As a visual representation of the geography of that same territory, it had serious shortcomings, most notable among them the cartographer's inability to draw to scale – as evinced in the proportions of the buxom blonde whose illustration took up a full quarter of the parchment.

Really, Gokudera would have been better off ignoring the map altogether and just heading straight for the coast.

Although the real goal wasn't to get to Namimori; it was to find the Tenth Skylord.

Who was most likely to be in Namimori, Shamal had said, given the unusual weather disturbances in that place - “but there could be other reasons. A high number of potential Guardians, for instance.”

“What are the conditions for being a potential Guardian?” he'd asked.

Shamal seemed bored by the question. “The same conditions that are required for a potential Skylord, I suppose. A natural affinity for the elemental magic that guards this land. And the inner strength to produce the Flame of Dying Will. I, of course, have all the qualifications to be a Guardian.”

“Then are you going to become one?”

Shamal had shrugged. “It's too much work. Well, if the Skylord this time turns out to be a woman, I might reconsider. Why are you looking at me like that, kid – do _you_ want to be a Guardian? I wouldn't bother; a rebellious brat like you doesn't have the willpower.”

“I never said I wanted to! Anyway, it's nothing to do with you.”

“How pathetic. You're always so easy to read.” But Shamal hadn't pursued the subject; instead, he'd asked Gokudera to go to Namimori on his behalf, to look for Skylord candidates. “I've been asked to do it by the Higher-Ups, but it's impossible with my current schedule. The social season's about to begin, you know. All the ladies have left their country estates and come to town, and I'm a very popular man.”

All the usual useless excuses. Gokudera lifted his chin: “Well then, I'll go find the Tenth Skylord, and ask him to make me his Guardian – no, his _right-hand man._.”

“Oh, really? That's not a very reliable plan, is it? I already told you there might not be a Skylord candidate in Namimori at all. Well, it might be interesting to see you involved in something other than futile rebellion, for once.” He'd handed Gokudera the map, then. “It should take you ten days to get there on foot.”

That had been two weeks ago.

Gokudera raised his mage-globe and stared down the path. There was no sign that it led anywhere except deeper into the forest. _Damn it._ The wind had grown in intensity again, rustling the leaves and branches on trees, and he had no way of knowing whether it was merely a natural turn of the weather, or if he'd lost control of his magic again.

In a way, it was satisfying to know that he could affect the weather like this. _I have the affinity to be a Vongola Guardian. This proves it._ Gokudera had done more in these last two weeks besides getting lost – he'd also been paying attention to the magic that ran throughout the land and protected it: a complex pattern of power nodes and ley-lines embedded in the earth, a joint creation of the First Skylord and the Rainbow Children. Known as the Vongola Protection, its lines of power ran across every field and mountain and valley in the Vongola duchy, and – according to the historians – linked well over five thousand magical nodes.

He'd read about the spell while researching the history of the Skylords in the Vongola Castle library, but it was only on his sixth day of travel that he managed to see it, with its rippling rainbow pattern of magical power.

If truth be told, he wasn't sure _how_ he'd managed to see the ley-lines. He put it down to the fact that he'd been practicing his magical powers every single night, constructing and refining the explosive spells that Shamal had taught him to cast, back when he was a child.

The Vongola Protection didn't quite look like what Gokudera had imagined, from the diagrams in the history books. It was was strangely _messy_ , for one thing. Some ley-lines ended abruptly in the middle of nowhere, with no magical node to flow into. Others seemed to be hopelessly tangled together as if they were pieces of yarn that an inquisitive kitten had pawed at for hours. And whenever Gokudera chanced to see an actual node, he always noticed free-floating lumps of rainbow-coloured magic hovering in its vicinity, like small moons around a planet . Patches of magic weren't supposed to just stand around like that, with no defined pattern. The potential for thaumaturgic accidents was enermous.

It'd taken Gokudera a while to realise that whenever his emotions were disturbed, the ley-lines seemed to warp and then send bright red tendrils of magic snaking towards the sky, and strong winds would start blowing. He hadn't put two and two together until after he'd met the young man with a sword – whom he'd mistaken for a spy from one of the competing Skylord candidates (Shamal had warned him that there might be some), and promptly attacked. Gales and rain had followed Gokudera for an hour following that encounter.

The winds had been relentless for most of the last two weeks. Gokudera decided not to think too hard about the implications of that.

He lowered his mage-globe. _It's too dark to travel any further tonight. Damn it._

All these delays were really starting to piss him off. He found an open patch of grass alongside the path and set up a warding-spell, then spread out his bedroll.

Thankfully, sleep was not long in coming.

 

#

He awoke to daylight and the sound of human voices. The latter brought him to wakefulness all at once: he dispelled the wards around where he was sleeping with a flicker of his fingers, gathered his things, and then quietly concealed himself in a corner, behind some shrubs.

A beautiful girl was walking through the forest. She had long, very straight, light brown hair, worn loose; and she wore a pink gown, with a finely knitted white shawl around her shoulders. She looked around her with a delighted expression. “The wildflowers are so lovely! You never told me about this place before, Brother.”

Gokudera heard a whickering sound coming from further up the path, and a young man about his own age came into view, leading two palfreys by the reins. The young man's cropped hair reminded Gokudera of a poorly-maintained lawn. He was grinning as he spoke: “I thought you would like it. There's a little stream further on, that has the most marvellous coloured fish. Trout, too. Wish I'd brought some fishing tackle.”

“Well, it's not very far from the city. We could come here again soon. Hana would love it."

Gokudera pricked up his ears. There could only be _one_ city in this vicinity, unless his knowledge of geography was even more confused than Shamal's mapmaking skills.

He emerged from his hiding place.

The girl gave a little start, and then smiled. “Oh, my! You frightened me. I hadn't expected to see anyone else here.”

He went straight to the point. “How far is it to Namimori from here? I'm on my way there.”

“Oh! I see. It's not far at all; it's only about an hour away on foot, to the north. Would you like us to take you there? We're having a picnic breakfast here, but afterwards we'll be making our way back to the city.”

Gokudera frowned. “No. I can get there by myself.”

“Hold on,” her brother interjected. “I don't appreciate the tone you're taking with Kyoko here, stranger.” He brought his fists up. “Be more civilised, or I'll teach you a lesson in how to behave like a gentleman.”

Gokudera scowled and walked right past him. “I don't have time to play with you.”

“Of all the--”

“Oh, it's quite all right, Brother! I'm sure he's just in a hurry and doesn't mean it.”

“Did you _see_ that? I am extremely outraged!”

“Don't get into a fight here, of all places!”

Their conversation began to fade as he walked faster now, invigorated by the knowledge that his destination was very nearly in sight.

_Tenth, I'm coming for you._

A small yellow bird flew past, overhead; he registered its presence but did not make anything of it, at the time.

 

 


	5. The Skylord, part 5/?  [Gokudera, Tsuna, various]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and at last, a potential Skylord.

 

 

  
Gokudera found Namimori nestled in the shadow of a mountain, lying on a wide coast beside a deep blue sea that glittered like diamond. For a moment he was taken aback, when the path he was walking curved sharply and the city appeared in front of him; he hadn't expected it to be beautiful.

Well, he hadn't expected it to be _ugly_. He hadn't expected anything of Namimori, really – it wasn't as if he remembered his mother telling him anything about the place. All she'd left him were her sharp fine features and narrow, very dark eyes, so different from Bianchi's. So different from all the other children Gokudera had grown up with.

He scowled at the direction his thoughts were taking. _Doesn't matter now. If I find – when I find the Skylord, my position at the castle will be rock-solid. There isn't a single person who'd dare to challenge a Guardian's position at court._

On closer look, Namimori did not prove so very different from Vongola City. It was perhaps a more neat and orderly city, its streets and squares clean and well-swept, with uniformed guards patrolling every few blocks.

_Of course. Hibari Kyouya's missing, so naturally they've tightened the security._

How, in a city of this size, did one go about locating a potential Skylord? It wasn't as if the likely candidates just walked around emitting Dying Will Flames.

“You look like you're lost,” chirped a high-pitched voice coming from somewhere near his knees.

Gokudera took a step backwards, and then glanced down. A chubby face smiled up at him, framed in smoke the colour of amber. “Hello, Gokudera.”

Gokudera catalogued the details – infant face and figure, black dress suit, jaunty black hat, with a complicated orange cravat that seemed to be concealing something at the child's neck, something that shone with an unearthly light. He felt dizzy.

“Reborn,” he said. The Yellow Child. He crouched down and reached out, only to have his fingers pass through empty space when he tried to touch the infant's hat. A projection, nothing more.

“You're late,” said the image. “I expected you here two days ago.”

He flushed. “I had some problems.”

“Only weak people make excuses,” said Reborn. “You should have found some way to overcome your problems.”

Gokudera felt suddenly, furiously indignant, and gulped down the feeling. This was _Reborn_ he was talking to. “Why are you here?”

“Catching the sea breeze.” The infant's clothing changed to that of a long-sleeved woollen swimsuit. “The air in Namimori is famous for improving's one's health.” When Gokudera stared at him, he added, “Why are _you_ here?”

“I'm looking for the Tenth Skylord.” He felt defensive. “Like I was told to.”

“Well, you're looking in the wrong place.” A portly woman carrying a basket of fresh produce brushed past Gokudera and looked at the image of Reborn rather strangely; it seemed like magical manifestations in the street weren't as common in Namimori as they were in the Vongola capital. “Since you're wasting your time here, you should leave.”

“Wait. First you say you've been waiting for me for two days, and then you tell me to leave? Why didn't you just send a message earlier?”

“I didn't say I was waiting for you. I said I _expected_ you.” A map and a compass appeared in the infant's hands. “I have your next destination for you. Let's see.. the Kokuyou Marshes. That's where you should be going right now.”

That was it. Reborn might be the greatest of the Rainbow Children and therefore the most hallowed creature in the country short of an actual deity, but Gokudera didn't allow anyone to treat him like this. “Look, I don't know what you have in mind, but like hell I'll go haring off into some wasteland without more of an explanation--”

“You want to be the Storm Guardian, don't you?” Gokudera fell silent, cut off mid-sentence, his mouth still slightly open. “Well. Do you?”

He scowled. “Just tell me what I have to do at Kokuyou Marsh.”

“For now, all you have to do is get there.” Reborn's high, breathy child-voice was still sounding as the image faded, dissipated into paling yellow smoke. “We're expecting you. Don't be late this time.”

#

Kokuyou Marsh lay in the southeasternmost reaches of the Vongola duchy, eighty square miles of mist and treacherous ground beginning half a day's journey south of Namimori and continuing all the way to the border. Gokudera had heard stories of people disappearing there, of worn and rotting corpses surfacing at the edges of the water channels, bloated with damp and disfigured beyond recognition.

If he was honest with himself, the thought of going there scared him, just a little.

But he was not a coward. He began in his mind to go through the things he needed before resuming his journey.

 _I need more food – and maybe a couple of ring-amplifiers._ There was no knowing what monsters or enemies might be waiting at Kokuyo, no telling what the nodes and the ley-lines were like, or whether they were even usable, and he needed all the magic he could get. Better safe than sorry.

It took him some time to find a shop that sold magical supplies. He had to stop and ask for directions several times, and had to visit a second store after an unsuccessful and heated attempt at bargaining with the owner at the first one.

The second shop was only a little cheaper. “This is ridiculous,” he complained to the woman behind the counter. “In Vongola City I could get this for three-quarters of the price.”

“I'm sorry, sir, but the price is fair. It's difficult finding rings in Namimori; we usually have to go up to the capital to get them, or else down south, in the Gesso lands. If you buy more than one, though, I could give you a discount.”

It wasn't as if he had other options. “One storm ring, and one multiple-affinity ring. High grade.” He didn't have enough money to buy amplifiers for each individual affinity.

The sunlight seemed unnaturally bright as he stepped out from the store; in fact, it was so warm he felt his skin burning. He snapped to attention, slipped on the rings he had just bought. Around him, the air began to stir into a wind.

Then the lightning started to flash. He leaped back as it struck the cobblestones at his feet; smelled singed leather arising from his left boot. The second bolt landed ten yards away, narrowly missing a street urchin who darted out of the way. Gokudera reached inside his jacket for his sticks of explosive powder, and scanned the area for the source of the disturbance.

Two men stood on the other side of the street, surrounded by a fizzling electrical charge. The rest of the townspeople were rapidly backing away from them.

The one on the left started walking towards Gokudera. His face was thick with maquillage, and he wore a woman's headdress of ostrich's feathers, the kind usually seen only at the stuffiest and most formal Court events. “Mmm, He looks delicious. Not my type, though.”

““Focus on the job, Lussuria.” The second man came closer. He was a full head taller than Gokudera, dressed in a dark thick coat despite the warm weather. “Boy. Are you a storm mage?”

In reply Gokudera activated his rings, surrounding himself with a cloud of red magic.

“I see you are. Well, then.” The man lifted what looked like a black parasol. “Die.”

Gokudera threw up a concave shield just in time as lightning surged from the huge man towards him. A scarlet wind spun out and intercepted the lightning, breaking it up into hundreds of small sparks that veered back towards Gokudera's attackers. A small shower of them landed on the pink-haired man called Lussuria, sending an unpleasant smell into the air as they scorched and blackened his headdress.

“You messed up my hat, you little brat!” Lussuria began glowing golden as he advanced on Gokudera. Gokudera pulled more explosives from inside his coat and ignited them with a twist of storm magic, tossed them outwards in a spreading fan pattern. They exploded, flooding the street with smoke.

He moved backwards so that he could breathe without coughing, blinking away the smoke. His field of vision was just beginning to clear, when a fist drove into his stomach and another one smashed him in the jaw. He fell to the ground as someone wearing heavy boots kicked him hard in the left shin, and a screaming pain went through his leg.

“I've got him!” cried Lussuria. Gokudera stared up at the pink-haired man, unable to move, his thoughts frozen.

Abruptly and without warning, the entire world was filled with orange light. At the same time something hard and blunt knocked violently against the side of Gokudera's head, and he lost consciousness.

#

When he came to, he was sore everywhere: a deep dull ache in his left leg, a throbbing headache, a swollen right cheek, and what felt like a thousand scrapes and bruises all over his skin. His eyesight was blurry, his surroundings unfamiliar, and for some moments he was lost in a disoriented panic, before he managed to calm himself and take stock of the environment.

He lay beneath a wooden sloping ceiling with crossbeams low enough for him touch. Underneath him, he felt a straw mattress. On his left was a window with plain wooden shutters, letting in a bright light that hurt his eyes.

He turned onto his side to get a better look at the rest of the room. It was cramped, and contained little besides a carved chest in one corner, and a stool by the bedside that carried Gokudera's coat, neatly folded. Gokudera's satchel lay against one leg of the stool.

Feeling uneasy with his weapons out of reach, he tried to struggle upright. Pain in multitudinous parts of his anatomy brought his efforts to a halt, and he let himself fall back against the mattress with a gasp.

Footsteps approached, with the heavy rhythm that suggested they were climbing a staircase, and then a boy entered the room, carrying a wooden cup.

“You're awake! I'm so relieved.” Gokudera tensed as the boy came closer. He looked to be in his mid-teens, short and thin, with messy brown hair. He smiled rather nervously at Gokudera. “I brought you some water. I'm going to put it on the windowsill, can you manage?"

As the boy leaned across Gokudera to place the cup on the windowsill, Gokudera reached up and grabbed his throat.

At once the boy pulled himself away with a quick twist. The momentum caused him to stumble and fall against the chest, in the opposite corner of the room from Gokudera. The cup fell onto the bed; water seeped into Gokudera's clothes and the mattress.

The two of them stared at each other.

“What happened?” Gokudera asked harshly.

“Nothing I-I mean, I did nothing!” The boy brought himself to a standing position. “I found you lying there on the streets, that's all. You were pretty beaten up. What are you trying to do?” he asked in alarm as Gokudera once again tried to get out of bed. “You shouldn't move, you're injured - _ouch_.” This last was spoken in response to Gokudera raising his head and promptly hitting one of the crossbeams above him.

Gokudera ended up flat on his back again, feeling like his life was trying to ring out through his ears, his entire body one large collection of pain dominated by the agony in his skull.

“I don't have time for this,” he ground out when he was finally able to speak. His voice sounded weak to himself. “I need to be at Kokuyou as soon as possible.” And get back at those bastards too, but his voice didn't seem to be able to manage any more words.

“Look, just stay still for a while. We're looking for a sun mage who can fix you right up. Do you mind waiting for that?” When there was no reply, the boy sighed. “Rest for now, okay? Mamma's preparing tea, I'll bring it up to you in about an hour.”

He began to leave, but when he was in the doorway he turned and said, “My name's Tsuna, by the way. What's yours?”

Gokudera ignored Tsuna, and instead angled his head to look out the window. The sky above the city was perfectly blue, and scattered with rainbows.

 


	6. The Skylord, part 6/?  [Yamamoto, Dino, Hibird]

 

 

Yamamoto was peeling grapes for Lambo when Lord Dino Cavallone fell face-first in the mud. Yamamoto heard a thud and splash first, and then, peering out the back doorway of the inn, saw the nobleman picking himself off the ground, spitting out gravel and rainwater.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Dino threw him a sheepish grin, one hand reaching up to brush muddy strands of hair out of his muddy face. “I'm okay. Just one of those clumsy moments, you know. And the ground's so slippery -- whoops!”

This time Yamamoto managed to catch hold of Dino's arm before he fell. Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on the Cavallone lord grabbing onto Yamamoto's shoulder with his _other_ arm, which reminded Yamamoto's body painfully that it'd had two dozen blades stuck in it last night. Yamamoto flinched, wincing, and they lost balance together, sending up a spray of dirty water all over Lambo as they hit the ground in a tangle of limbs.

As Yamamoto lay there, half-stunned, he heard footsteps and voices approaching from the ends of the courtyard, and soon after found himself being gently hauled to his feet.

“Lord Dino, perhaps you should go indoors and have some lunch.” That was one of Dino's retainers, of which there were six surrounding them in a circle right now, all dressed in the same dark Cavallone livery. Yamamoto couldn't remember any of their names except for Romario, the physician who'd pulled the knives out of him last night.

“It's my responsibility to look after my horses,” Dino argued.

“Lord Dino. _Please_ go inside.” Dino frowned at his man's tone, then sighed.

“All right,” he said; turning to Yamamoto, he asked: “Do you feel ready for lunch, Takeshi? Thank you for trying to help.”

“I wish I'd succeeded,” said Yamamoto, somewhat relieved that his wounds hurt so much. If they hadn't, he would have been well in the middle of a laughing fit by now. “Don't you think we had better clean ourselves up first? You're, er, quite a sight.” Dino was indeed a spectacle to behold -- hair the colour of sunlight, olive skin, expensive-looking riding coat, all damp and copiously soiled with brown streaks.

“You look just as bad, I'll have you know. Baths _would_ be a good idea.” Dino turned businesslike suddenly, with that peculiar way he had of shifting the atmosphere around him. One minute he'd come across as friendly and silly, the next, he was...cool. Keen-edged.

At any rate, it was interesting to watch.

“I'll get someone to bring hot water up to your room,” continued Dino. “Come to the private parlour in about half an hour; we can have lunch there. You too, Lambo.” As he spoke he smiled down at the child, who was clinging to Yamamoto's right calf.

A tub of steaming hot water was waiting in Yamamoto's rooms when he went upstairs. Two terrycloth towels sat on the bed, neatly folded. Yamamoto undressed and then lowered himself into the bath with some difficulty, careful not to open the wounds that Romario had so carefully sealed with magic glue last night. Despite the steam, the water was just the right temperature to be comfortable, and he relaxed, resting his back against the end of the tub. He was more tired than he'd realised. It had taken Romario several hours to see to all his injuries, and afterwards Lord Dino had thought it urgent enough to tell him and Lambo the whole story, that all of them had ended up staying awake until past midnight.

The long-haired man and his companion with the flying knives were named Squalo and Belphegor. They were members of the Varia, the mercenary company that had led the duchy's armies to victory against the Giglio Nero a decade ago. As a reward they had been given a nothern city to rule over, a gift that had not been withdrawn even when Xanxus, the ruler of the Varia, had attempted to overthrow the current, Ninth Skylord. Xanxus had been punished by being encased in a tomb of frozen sky-flame, and placed on a high column outside the gates of the Vongola Palace. He still stood there, a significant tourist attraction for visitors to the capital city.

Now the Skylord was succumbing to illness, and the Varia were seeking to make Xanxus his successor.

“Is that allowed?” Yamamato had asked.

Dino had shrugged. “The magic chooses whom it wills,” he'd said. “We don't have the right to bar them from participating in the challenge, even if we could.” His expression darkened. “We do, however, have the right to keep them from removing all other Guardian and Skylord candidates.”

It hadn't taken Yamamoto too long to figure out what he was saying. “So. I'm guessing that Lambo's a Guardian candidate—and I am, as well.” When Dino nodded with a serious expression, he'd said: “I broke my sword when I was fighting Squalo. Do you know where I can get a new one?”

Dino's eyebrows had shot up. “Uh, I'm not quite sure that's our first priority.”

“If the Varia members come back, I won't be able to protect myself without a sword. Or Lambo.”

“I can protect myself,” Lambo had said indignantly, with a zap of lightning to Yamamoto's knees to punctuate his words.

One of the Cavallone men had spoken: “Milord Dino, if you'd assign some of us to safeguard Master Yamamoto and Master Lambo--”

“No, they're both right. It's a Guardian candidate's job to protect, not to be protected.” Dino turned to Yamamoto. “We'll get you a sword as soon as we can.”

That had been all the information Yamamoto got out of the Cavallone lord last night. Everyone had slept in this morning, and when Yamamoto had finally woke up, it was almost noon. Lambo had been bouncing up and down on the foot of the bed, asking to be fed grapes.

He got out of the bath, got dressed, and made his way to the private parlour on the ground floor. The door was ajar when he arrived; Yamamoto pushed it open, and walked in. He found the Cavallone lord sitting in a cushioned chair in front of the unlit fireplace. Dino appeared to be talking to himself.

“'Mukuro is a girl'. Is that meant to be a figure of speech?” Something small and yellow fluttered in Dino's lap. Yamamoto, upon examination, realised it was a small bird, sparrow-sized, perched on Dino's left thigh.

Dino noticed Yamamoto's arrival at about the same time, and stood up. “Takeshi! Come and take a seat. Lambo's already here,” he said, gesturing towards a table at the back of the room, where an array of food was laid out. A delicious smell wafted in their direction – meat and onion stew, it seemed like. Lambo sat at one end of the table, slurping noisily at a bowl of soup.

They took their seats. and began their meal. As Yamamoto was helping himself to bread and stew, the little bird landed on the placemat in front of Dino, chirping indignantly.

“Ah, I forgot about you. You must be hungry. Romario!”

“Yes, my lord?” The dark-haired man emerged from a doorway Yamamoto had not noticed existed.

“Could you get a bowl of water for Hibird? And some.. bird seed. If we've got any.” Dino looked quizzically at the bird. “What _do_ you eat, anyway? I've never seen Kyouya feed you – ouch!” Hibird hopped back, letting out a series of satisfied-sounding cheeps, as a bright spot of blood appeared on Dino's left thumb. “Could you not resemble your owner quite so much?” Dino said reproachfully to the bird, which flew over to the back of an adjacent chair, and began warbling a familiar song.

“That's the Namimori city anthem,” Yamamoto said in recognition.

“Let me do the introductions. This is Hibird. He's a messenger for Lord Hibari Kyouya of Namimori.” Dino gave a wry grin. “Unfortunately, I only understand about three hundred words of Hibird-speak, which makes communication rather limited. But enough gets across.” His eyes turned serious. “Kyouya just sent me a message to say that Mukuro's trapped him in a cave in Kokuyou Marsh.”

“ _Rokudo_ Mukuro? The immortal?” Under other circumstances, Yamamoto would have been surprised at the mention of the legendary name – but the last few days had been one long series of improbable events.

Hibird chirped, drawing Dino's attention. “Understood. On _no_ account am I to attempt a rescue. Tell Kyouya I don't have to be told something three times. Well, _usually_ I don't. Stop pecking me, would you?” he added, as Hibird proceeded to bloody the opposite thumb and several more fingers.

“I have Hibird's bowl of water, my lord,” said Romario, who in the meantime had disappeared through the doorway and returned again. “And some top-grade bird seed.”

“Ah, thank goodness. Put them in that corner right over there." Dino pointed at the end of the table opposite to where he was sitting. "Go drink, Hibird. Eat,” he said to the bird, before turning to Yamamoto. “To be honest, I'd really like to rescue Kyouya, but we don't have the resources to do so at the moment. Plus I'm sure he sent Hibird here just to make sure we didn't go rampaging across the duchy trying to find him.”

“Which you were about to do, my lord.”

“Yes, Romario; I know. We'll have to go back to the original plan now, which was...?”

“To gather troops and and prepare for eventual battle with the Varia army.”

“Right. I did remember that. We were also asked to look for potential Guardian candidates and guide them to the selection site – that's where the two of you come in. And Kyouya too – I have no idea what we're going to to do if he refuses to become a Guardian. Cloud mages are as rare as desert mangroves.”

“Huh," said Yamamoto. "Interesting that you're not rescuing him, then.”

“Remember what we talked about last night? Guardian candidates are to protect, not be protected. Plus--” and it was there again, that quiet and dark and dangerous aura that emanated from Dino at the most unexpected moments, “I'd be sorely disappointed in Kyouya, if he couldn't get out of this fix by himself.

“I think we should be worrying about _you_ instead. Rain swordsmen are nearly as rare as cloud mages. Only ones I've ever met are you and Squalo. Utterly wrecked the weather between the two of you, too; it took me half the night to get the storm to go away.”

Squalo Superbi. The man who had broken Yamamoto's sword.

Yamamoto knew what he had to do now.

 


	7. The Skylord, part 7/?

 

After lunch was over Yamamoto went out to the front courtyard, where several dozen of the Cavallone soldiers were sparring with a variety of weapons – batons, pikes, daggers, maces. One used a heavy decorated flail, and others wielded no weapon at all, but merely fought with feet and fists. They nodded respectfully to Yamamoto as he joined their circle, his boots squelching through the mud.

“How are your wounds doing?” asked the man holding the steel flail. He was a thickset warrior in leather armour.

“Quite all right,” Yamamoto said, although in fact it hurt to move. “By the way, do any of you have a practice sword I could use, the bamboo kind? Namimori-style.”

The men conferred among themselves. “I brought a bamboo sword with me,” said one of the swordsmen. “You can keep it if you like. I heard that your blade snapped into pieces when you faced Squalo last night.”

“Not bad, going up against Squalo like that,” said someone else.

“More guts than brains, hmm?”

The mixture of approbation and gentle ribbing felt awkward. Yamamoto attempted to change the subject. “May I join you? Since I plan to return Squalo's favour, I could do with some practice.”

He saw some brows raise in skepticism, but others made approving noises. The man with the flail clapped Yamamoto on the back. “That's the spirit! Come and exchange blows with me. Hurry up and lend him that blade of yours, Pietro.”

“I'm giving it to him,” said Pietro, stepping forward and handing the bamboo blade to Yamamoto. “Don't go easy on Rufino; he won't go easy on you.”

A cheer went up as Yamamoto and Rufino took position in the middle of the courtyard, and a circle of spectators rapidly formed around them. Other fights were abandoned as men sheathed their weapons and came over to watch the two of them.

Yamamoto and Rufino bowed to each other. “The fight lasts until one of us yields,” Rufino said. “Are you ready to start now?”

Yamamoto nodded.

Slowly Rufino began to advance, his feet making ripples in the wide shallow puddles of water that covered the ground. He swung the flail in the air as he advanced, the spiked ball at the end of its chain circling through the air. For his size, Rufino was surprisingly agile. Yamamoto adjusted his feet into the starting position of the seventh Souen form, waiting for the rhythm of his opponent's movements to change.

He didn't have to wait long. Rufino continued his deliberate pace until they were within three yards of each other, then altered speed and sprang forward, swinging the ball around to strike at Yamamoto's face.

Yamamoto smiled, tilted the bamboo sword, and spun it around. The blade caught Rufino on the underside of his arm, knocking the flail's trajectory off-course. A murmur of appreciation went through the onlookers. The spiked ball sailed past, going wide of Yamamoto's head, and he saw irritation flit across Rufino's features for a transient moment.

Soon enough the larger man regained control of his weapon, shifting his grip on the handle and then bringing it across for a second attempt. But Yamamoto was ready.

He moved out of the flail's path, and as Rufino swung and missed again, angled his sword and brought it down in a rapid diagonal slash, connecting with the back of Rufino's knees. Rufino's legs buckled; caught off-balance by the momentum of the flail, he tumbled forward into the dirt.

Some of the men cheered. Yamamoto barely noticed them at the edges of his attention. He waited as Rufino sprawled on the ground, picked himself up, and then realigned his flail. He had not loosened his hold on it even while falling.

“That chivalry will kill you if you're not careful,” he told Yamamoto.

“Then I'll be careful.”

Movement in the bystanders distracted them. The rest of the men were turning towards the main building of the inn, and bowing. Within seconds Yamamoto saw the cause, as the crowd parted to reveal Dino Cavallone, carrying his whip coiled in one hand.

“So what's your assessment, Rufino?” he asked, coming closer, not looking much like the sort of person who spontaneously tripped over his own feet. In fact he looked dangerous.

“Hard to say, sir,” answered Rufino, bowing as well, “he's been holding back on me.”

Yamamoto smiled, but kept his posture steady, and did not alter the position of his sword. Dino's eyes met his.

“You should rest while your wounds are still healing,” Dino said.

“I feel all right.” -- although as he spoke there came flooding into his body an awareness of every cut Belphegor had landed last night, as well as grazes, bruises, knocks and scratches that had been inflicted at the same time and since. While he'd been facing Rufino it was as if the pain had disappeared from his body; he'd simply forgotten to notice it.

“I understand that you want to train as quickly as possible. Squalo broke your sword; I'd think less of you, if you weren't keen for repayment. But it'll hardly do your cause good if your wounds open up and you end up bedridden.”

Yamamoto had nothing to say to that.

“Milord, I'm sorry--” Rufino was cut-off in midsentence, by Dino.

“That's all right. You weren't acting against orders. But I forbid all of you to spar with Yamamoto for the next two days. After that, with Romario's treatment, he should be able to continue training. Don't look so frustrated, Yamamoto. I want to you come on a walk with me; we still have more to discuss.”

“Okay,” said Yamamoto, trying to look less frustrated than he was feeling.

“If it makes you feel better, I've got something good for you. Something that will help you against Squalo.”

“What is it?” asked Yamamoto.

Dino smiled. “Come and find out.”

#

The ring was solitaire, its silver band engraved with a complex and unfamiliar script that converged on a central, multifaceted gem. The gemstone threw off light from its angled surfaces, first pure like glass, then the colour of a shallow pond, then the sky at noon, then ultramarine.

Yamamoto cradled the ring in his left palm, brought it nearer to his face to examine closely, and then frowned at Dino. “What is it?” he asked.

“A present from an old teacher of mine. Would you like to try it on?”

Yamamoto did so, and found that it fit perfectly the ring finger of his right hand. It was snug and cool against his skin, and as he let it rest there, gleaming, a menagerie of scents came unbidden to his memory: the smell of of a coming storm, the salt of the Namimori sea; damp twigs, damp soil, damp grass. The sensation of raindrops falling against his skin, the roar of a waterfall. The sight of snowflake -- of flood -- of hail.

He let out a sound of surprise and looked down at his hand. The ring was freezing cold, colder than anything he'd ever felt.

“Do not take it off.” Dino's voice, urgent but calm. “Anything you're experiencing is just a natural result of your innate magic interacting with the ring. It's a rain-affinity ring, designed to enhance your powers. You must master the use of rings, if you plan to defeat Squalo.”

Yamamoto breathed deeply, calming himself, until the sounds and smells and sensations had dimmed to something in the background, like a distant burbling rivulet.

Dino said: “I was told to entrust this ring to you. But I cannot teach you how to use it.”

“Why not?”

Dino frowned at him, and then turned, to look outwards at the surrounding view. They were a good distance from the inn – past the main road running east-west through the duchy, up a narrow, barely-marked path that wound its way up a grassy slope cluttered with sheep – and stood on a ledge that, although not very elevated, commanded a unobstructed view of the surrounding plateau: inn, village, farmland, bordering forest, small brown dots of domesticated animals. Yamamoto saw Romario waiting at the foot of the hill, keeping a discrete eye on Dino.

“I should say rather, _he_ doesn't want me to teach you.” Dino held out his hand, revealing the heavy, ornate, golden ring he wore. It was set with a brilliant fire opal. “As a skymage I use the magic of rain, but only in the most rudimentary way. To truly develop your abilities, it would be best if you were taught by someone who specialises in rain magic. A swordsman, even.”

“My father said that he had taught me all he could.”

“Then you will have to look for someone else. I'm very sorry to ask this of you while you're still recovering from your wounds, but time is running short, and I have an army to raise. I have a mission for you.”

“What is it?”

“About twenty miles north of this place lives a woman called Lal Mirch. I need you to bring Lambo there, as soon as possible. Lal is the only person I know who can train you now. If the Rainbow Children were permitted to take part in the choosing of the Guardians – but that is a different story. If they were involved then anything we or the Varia did would be useless. -- Can I trust you with your own safety, and Lambo's?

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” Dino's shoulders relaxed, and it was only then that Yamamoto realised how tense they had been before. “Romario will see to your wounds this evening, and I'll see if I can speed up the healing process with sun-magic, before you leave this village. Tell Lal that you come on behalf of Dino Cavallone and the Yellow Child. If you see enemies on your way, you must hide, not fight. I will not allow you to risk your life and Lambo's until you have learned how to use your rings, is that understood?”

“If you and your men hadn't arrived last night, we would both be dead. I can't say I'm happy about hiding from the enemy, but I understand. I'll do as you say.”

“Thank you. I know it's not easy. I wish I could help you more.” Dino gestured outwards, at the hillside angling away from them, at the green countryside beyond, and the pale horizon of distant mountains. “Look at the land, Yamamoto. At the duchy of the Vongola. Three centuries ago it was nothing more than a bunch of fiefdoms, wracked by highway robberies and border disputes. My ancestors were among the petty lords who fought to defend their meagre lands, ignoring the suffering of the peasants.

“Giotto came along and changed all that, forged his contract with the land and sky. There've been merciful Skylords since, and cruel Skylords, and Guardians of all kinds. But they have always protected the duchy and its people. Frankly, I do not think Xanxus is qualified to be the Skylord. The Vongola Protection itself will reject him. This land does not need a ruler who carves his own power in blood. But the duchy needs leadership. Many nobles have said that they will accept Xanxus even if he does not go through the usual ordeals: even if the magic of the land rejects him.

“That's why you must protect yourself and Lambo, and quickly master your magical power. When Lal tells you that you are ready, travel to Vongola City. The final battle and choosing will take place there.” Dino paused his speech at last. “I've told you all I can. The rest is up to you now. Are you ready for what you must do?”

Yamamoto lightly touched the ring he wore. Rather than cool, it was now heated to the touch; he felt something stirring beneath the metallic surface. Above them, clouds shifted. It was sunshowering. A fine drizzle, barely palpable, rained down on Yamamoto's cheeks and arms. There was something optimistic and welcoming about it.

“When can we leave?” he asked.

 


End file.
